Frost Burned

challenged me two weeks ago.”
    Which gave Frost time to set up the attack on the wolves.
    “They were supposed to hold the werewolves until the fight was over,” I said, working it out. “Then what? He would come in to rescue the wolves and kill the humans? Vampires and werewolves unite?” I’d thought he wanted the wolves dead. But if he allied himself with Adam . . . Not that Adam would ever be that stupid. If Frost came in as the rescuer, it would take Bran longer to understand that he had a new enemy. Maybe too long.
    Asil growled, a subsonic sound that jangled my nerves. Then he echoed the gist of my thoughts. “At least until he feels strong enough to take on the werewolves as a whole—because Bran would never allow Frost to do as he wishes.”
    “That was probably part of Frost’s plans,” said Marsilia. She sounded like I was amusing her. Maybe it was supposed to irritate me—but I thought it was just habitual; she seemed too distracted to be her usual nasty self. “But he had something else in mind as his real target. Whom does the pack protect, Mercy? Who would be vulnerable if the pack were gone?”
    There was a dramatic pause while I stared at her. I understood who she meant, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out
why
.
    “He wants
you
dead,” Stefan told me. “When his mercenaries failed, he sent a pair of half-fae assassins after you.”
    He’d known that someone had been sent after us?
    Stefan made an impatient sound. “Don’t look at me like that, Mercy. Remember, I’m not a part of the seethe anymore. How do you think Marsilia got me to come here?”
    He’d been sounding pretty chummy with her, I thought uncharitably.
    “We only heard about the assassins earlier tonight,” Hao said, half-apologetically. “After they had already failed.”
    “They were supposed to kill
me
?” I said. “That makes no sense at all. Why go after me?”
    Marsilia’s lips turned up as if she’d had a pleasant thought, and her voice was velvet-soft when she said, “
I
would kill you if you didn’t have the pack.”
    I made a frustrated sound. “I mean someone who didn’t know me. I’m a lightweight.”
    “Clever coyote, to survive so many attempts to kill you.” Marsilia sounded somewhat bitter.
    “Really, why me?” I looked at them. “I get the whole vampires-hate-walkers thing, I do. But we’re not talking about sending me out on a hunt to find where he sleeps. I’m just not that—”
    “Like Coyote, you just keep staying alive,” said an amused voice from outside of our makeshift, ash-coated arena. He’d been standing on one of those damned I-beams watching us for Heaven knew how long.
    He hopped down and looked around, laughing silently to himself, a man no one would ever look at twice. At least not unless he were wearing metal gauntlets that looked as though they ought to be part of a torture museum display—as he had been the last time I’d seen him.
    William Frost turned around and clicked his tongue against his teeth. “You chose the oddest location for this, my lady fair. We shall all look like chimney sweeps when we are through here. And—no audience? Marsilia, my love, you disappoint me.”
    Marsilia drew herself up like a cat that someone had tried to pet without permission, and he smiled. “That’s what the Lord of Night said when he sent you away, isn’t it? ‘Marsilia, you disappoint me.’ ”
    Stefan cleared his throat. “I’ve heard that version. But . . . actually not.” He sounded apologetic. “It was in Italian, which is a much more beautiful language, but I can translate for those who don’t speak Italian.” This last was aimed at Frost, with just the right amount of veiled contempt. “He said, ‘My beautiful, deadly flower, my Bright Dagger, you dare more than I can allow. I will die of sorrow and boredom without you, but it must be done.’ I was there for that part. The rest I have from an acquaintance in his court. The Master of Milan composed a love song in her honor, as beautiful as his pain, that all who listen to it are moved to tears. The painting the Lord of Night created on the evening when she was banished is still on the wall above his bed so that he can show his lovers that none can compare with his Bright Dagger.” He smiled, showing his fangs, and his voice was nearly as sharp. “He will not be pleased with thee, William Frost. But you won’t have to worry about it, because you’ll be dead.”
    Frost had